


Intellectual Warfare

by KysisTheBard



Series: The Dance [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KysisTheBard/pseuds/KysisTheBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his last midnight encounter with Loki, Tony Stark hasn't seen the menace around... until he runs into him at the tailor's. Post "Strange Bedfellows" and "A Dangerous Attraction".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intellectual Warfare

“Excuse me, yes, I had an appointment five minutes ago.” Tony lifted his wrist, glancing down at it, though he knew perfectly well what time it was. He glanced back up at the front desk, a frown tugging the sharp edges of his goatee down. “Do you know who I am?”

The receptionist finally looked up—was she reading a Cosmo?—rolling her eyes. No one rolled their eyes at him. She smacked her gum, straightening her glasses. “Sir, the tailor is still with someone else.”

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets, walking slowly for the desk. He craned his head over the little wall on the desk’s back. She was reading a Cosmo. Tony sighed, leaning back on his heels. “Look, if I don’t get in there right now, I will have to reschedule three meetings. And my P.A. will not be happy.”

“Sir, if you could please sit back down.”

“No.” Tony pulled his phone out of his pocket, thumb tapping the blue screen quickly. “I guess I will have to take my business elsewhere. Since, you know, you can’t even keep an appointment for the Tony Stark. C.E.O. of Stark Industries.” He kept punching buttons, running a search for nearby suit tailors. “Iron Man. Nothing big.”

Finally she relented. The audacity. She picked up her desk phone, turning away to speak into it. Tony could tap into the line and listened if he felt like it. That actually sounded like a great idea.

She hung up before he’d gotten a chance, turning back. “Go on back.”

“What, I don’t even get an escort?” Tony smirked when she let out an exasperated sigh. He sauntered past the desk and through the door to the back.

The hall was filled with all different sorts of suits, all different colors and cuts. Tony paused by a red one, smile only growing as he rubbed two discerning fingers along the cuff. Very nice. Pep would kill him if he ordered a red suit, though, so he kept walking, whistling no tune specifically.

The tailor was busy at work, a short man with a balding head and a sharp, hawk nose. He was wielding a tape measure, or rather, it was clenched in his mouth, his hands full of pins. Tony walked right into the room like he owned it—well that would be a way to make sure his meetings were on time—and turned.

A tall man stood on the measuring podium, arms to his sides. A thin olive green shirt clung to his leanly muscles back and his arms, sleeves pushed up to the elbows, exposing creamy skin. Tony let his eyes trail up, taking in the head of black hair which dusted his shoulders.

The tailor held up a finger to Tony, his interpreting it as needing a moment. He could tell. Tony went back to perusing suit jackets. He should probably go for the classic black. Normally he wouldn’t, but the other man was in crisp black pants, the tailor working feverishly to pin them properly. It reminded Tony that he didn’t have nearly enough plain black suits.

“Mr. Stark, what a pleasure to see you here.”

A chill crept up Tony’s spine. The whistle died on his lips, mouth suddenly very dry. Tony glanced over his shoulder.

He could see the man’s pale profile now, grey-green eyes amused as a cat’s. A familiar smirk crawled onto his face, not helping in the least with Tony’s discomfort.

The last time they had seen each other—

On second thought, he wouldn’t even bring that up. The tabloids had enough to say about him without adding fuel to the fire.

“So, planning on wrecking any parties in Germany?”

That gaze turned smoldering with a snap of a finger. Light on. Light off. Loki shifted, earning a scowl from the tailor.

“Stay still, Mr. Layson!”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Layson?”

“Lance Layson.” The name glided easily off his tongue. God of Lies, indeed. “Not that you would remember.”

Tony gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock insult. His heart was hammering under there, though the hum of the arc reactor under his palm was reassuring. Somewhat. He didn’t have his suit. “I take offense to that! I remember you very well. Like that time you messed up my penthouse.”

“Collateral damage.”

“How about that time you randomly showed up in the middle of the night? Two hundred dollar pair of sheets, ruined.”

The tailor cleared his throat. His face was red, including his bald spot. Tony laughed. Loki let out a seething sigh.

“Are you suggesting something untoward?”

“Are you denying something untoward?” Tony easily matched his tone, and his frown, though he made his a little more pouty. It worked, Loki shifting, turning slightly away.

“Mr. Layson, I can’t finish pinning this properly if you keep moving.” The tailor shoved another pin in, Loki letting out a little noise, leg shifting back. Tony couldn’t stop a laugh if he honestly wanted to try.

Another point to Tony. This was entirely too fun.

The tailor straightened, eyeing his work. He was still beet red, but that was part of the point. How much could Tony get away with saying here without getting into trouble? The thrill of it was making him giddy.

“From the sounds you were making, I would assume those were sheets well sacrificed.”

“Touché.” Tony pulled out another suit jacket, acting like he was paying close attention to it. He wasn’t, really, but it was all part of the game. “What would a fine, upstanding gentleman such as yourself need a new suit for anyway?”

Loki rolled his eyes, stepping down from the podium. “Last time I checked, I believed my social life was none of your business.”

“Last time I checked, you kept making it my business.” Tony glanced over his shoulder, admiring the pants Loki was wearing. They really did hug his ass in all the right ways. Not that he was checking him out. Much.

“Still hurt that I have yet to call you back?”

Point to Loki.

“I see you still don’t get the concept of a one night stand.”

Point.

“We will have to see about that.” Loki smirked, gaze quickly darting between Tony and the nearby dressing room.

“Mr. Layson, if you could please.” The tailor gestured towards the dressing room, and with a wink, Loki strutted straight for it, hips swaying in a way that should be illegal in all fifty states. Tony had to look away quickly not to stare.

Fuck it. He could stare if he wanted. It wasn’t like his reputation wasn’t already soiled when it came to his sex life.

The tailor cleared his throat again, a little louder this time. “Mr. Stark, have you decided on a design yet?”

Tony glanced between the tailor and the dressing room, which was right next to another one, just like it. There were curtains up as the walls. Curtains could be moved.

He grabbed the closest suit, not caring what it looked like, and at the tailor’s direction, headed into the dressing room with it, and especially not caring that everyone in the building would be able to hear them.


End file.
